The Rudolf Steiner Archive

It has already been announced that our studies in these Group Meetings during the winter are to be concerned with the life between death and the new birth. Obviously, what will be said from a comparatively new point of view will become thoroughly clear only when the whole course of lectures has been given. It must be taken for granted that a great deal will consist in the communication of findings of investigation carried out during recent months. It is only as our studies progress that understanding can become more complete. Let us, however, begin with a brief consideration of man's nature and constitution—a study that everyone can undertake for himself.

The most important and most outstanding fact revealed by an unprejudiced observation of man's life is surely the existence of the human Ego, the ‘I’. A distinction must however be made between the ‘I’ itself and the ‘I’ consciousness. It must be clear to everyone that from the time a child is born the ‘I’ is already active. This is obvious long before the child has any ‘I’-consciousness, when in the language he uses he speaks of himself as if he were another person. At about the third year of life, although of course there are children in whom this happens at an earlier age, the child begins to have some consciousness of himself and to speak of himself in the first person. We know too that this year, although it varies in many individuals, marks the limit before which, in later life, a human being is unable to recall what his soul has experienced. There is thus a dividing line in the life of a human being: before it there is no possibility of any clear and distinct experience of himself as ‘I’. After that point he can experience himself as an Ego, as ‘I’; he finds himself so at home in his ‘I’ that he can again and again summon up from his memory what his ‘I’ has experienced.

Now what does unprejudiced observation of life teach us about the reason why the child gradually passes from the stage when he has no experience of his ‘I’ to the stage when this experience comes to him? A clear observation of life can teach us that if from the earliest periods after birth a child were never to come into any sort of collision with the outer world, he could never become ‘I’-conscious. You can discover for yourselves how often you become conscious of your ‘I’ in later life. You have only to knock against the corner of a cupboard and you will certainly be made aware of your ‘I’. This collision with the outside world tells you that you are an ‘I’ and you will hardly fail to be aware of that ‘I’ when you have given yourself a hard bump! In the case of a child these collisions with the outside world need not always cause bruises but in essence their effect is similar—to some extent at least. When a child stretches out his little hand and touches something in the outside world, this amounts to a slight collision and the same holds good when a child opens his eyes and light falls upon them. It is actually by such contacts with the world outside that the child becomes aware of his own identity. Indeed his whole life during these early years consists in learning to distinguish himself from the world outside and thus becoming aware of the self, the ‘I’, within him. When there have been enough of these collisions with the outside world the child acquires self-consciousness and says ‘I’ of himself. Once ‘I’-consciousness has been acquired the child must therefore keep it alive and alert. The only possibility of this, however, is that collisions shall continue to take place. These collisions with the world outside have completed their essential function once the child has reached the stage where he says ‘I’ of himself, and there is nothing further to be learnt by this means as far as the development of consciousness is concerned. Unbiased observation, for instance, of the moment of waking will, however, help everyone to realise that this ‘I’-consciousness can be maintained only by means of ‘collisions’.

We know that this ‘I’-consciousness, together with all the other experiences, including those of the astral body, vanishes during sleep and wakens again in the morning. This happens because as a being of soul-and-spirit, man returns into his physical and etheric bodies. Again collisions take place—now with the physical and etheric bodies. A person who is able—even without any occult knowledge—to observe the life of soul accurately, can have the following experience. When he wakes in the morning he will find that a great deal of what his memory has preserved rises again into his consciousness: mental pictures, feelings and other experiences rise up into consciousness from its own depths. If we investigate all this with exactitude—and that is possible without any occult knowledge provided only there is some capacity for observing what the soul experiences—we shall find that what rises up into consciousness has a certain impersonal character. We can observe too that this impersonal character becomes more marked the longer ago the events in question took place—which means, of course, the less we are participating in them with our immediate ‘I’-consciousness. We may remember events which took place very long ago in our life, and when memory recalls them we may feel that we have as little directly to do with them as we have with experiences in the outside world which do not particularly concern us. What is otherwise preserved in our memory tends continually to break loose from our ‘I’. The reason why, in spite of this, we find our ‘I’ returning each morning clearly into our consciousness is that we come back into the same body. Through the resulting collision our ‘I’-consciousness is awakened again each morning. Thus just as the child develops consciousness of his ‘I’ by colliding with the external world, we keep that consciousness alert by colliding each morning with our inner being. This takes place not only in the morning but throughout the day; our ‘I’-consciousness is kindled by the counter-pressure of our body. Our ‘I’ is implanted in the physical body, etheric body and astral body and is continually colliding with them. We can therefore say that we owe our ‘I’-consciousness to the fact that we press inwardly into our bodily constitution and experience the counter-pressure from it. We collide with our body.

You will readily understand that this must have the consequence which always results from collisions, namely that damage or injury is caused, even if it is not at once noticed. Collisions of the ‘I’ with the bodily constitution cause slight injuries in the latter. This is indeed the case. Our ‘I’-consciousness could never develop if we were not perpetually colliding with our bodily make-up and thereby destroying it in some way. It is in fact the sum-total of these results of destruction that ultimately brings about death in the physical world. Our conclusion must therefore be that we owe the preservation of our ‘I’-consciousness to our own destructive activity, to the circumstance that we are able to destroy our organism perpetually.

In this way we are destroyers of our astral, etheric and physical bodies. But because of this, our relation to those bodies is rather different from what it is to the ‘I’. Everyday life itself makes it obvious that we can also work destructively upon the ‘I’, and we will now try to be clear as to how this may happen.

Our ‘I’ is something—never mind for the moment exactly what—that has a certain value in the world. Man feels the truth of this, but it is in his power to reduce that value. How do we reduce the value of our ‘I’? If we do harm to someone to whom we owe a debt of love, we shall actually at that moment have reduced the value of our ‘I’. This is a fact that every human being can recognise. At the same time he can realise that as a human being never fulfils his ideal value, his ‘I’ is really occupied throughout his life in reducing his own value, in bringing about his own destruction. However, as long as we remain poised in our own ‘I’, we have constant opportunity in life to annul the destruction we have caused. We are capable of this even though we do not always manage to do it. Before we pass through the gate of death we can make compensation in some form for undeserved suffering caused to another person. If you think about it you will realise that between birth and death it is possible for man to reduce the value of his ‘I’ but also ultimately to make good the destruction that has been brought about.

But in the case of the astral, etheric and physical bodies there is no possibility of being able to do this at the present stage of man's evolution. He is unable to work consciously on these bodies as he can do in the case of his ‘I’, for the reason that he is not, in the real sense, conscious in these members of his being. The destruction for which a man is continually responsible remains in his astral, etheric and physical bodies but he is not in a position to repair it. And it is easy to understand that if we were to come into a new incarnation with the forces of the astral, etheric and physical bodies as they were at the end of our previous incarnation, those bodies would be useless. The content of the life of soul is always the source and the sum and substance of what comes to expression in the bodily constitution. The fact that at the end of a life we have a brittle organism is evidence that our soul then lacks the forces necessary to sustain its vigour. In order to maintain our consciousness and keep it alert we have been continually damaging our bodily sheath. With the forces that are still available at the end of one incarnation we could do nothing in the next. It is necessary for us to reacquire the forces that are able to restore freshness and health within certain limits to the astral, etheric and physical bodies, and to make them of use for a new incarnation. In earthly existence—as is evident even to external observation—it is possible for man to damage these bodies but not to restore them to health. Occult investigation reveals that in the life between death and the new birth we acquire from the extra-terrestrial conditions in which we are then living the forces able to restore our worn-out sheaths. Between death and the new birth we expand into the Universe, the Cosmos, and we have to acquire the forces which cannot be drawn from the sphere of the Earth from the heavenly bodies connected with the Earth. These heavenly bodies are the reservoirs of forces needed for our bodily sheaths. On the Earth man can acquire only the forces needed for the constant restoration of the ‘I’. For the other members of his being the forces must be drawn from other worlds.

Let us consider the astral body first. After death the human being expands, quite literally expands, into all the planetary spheres. During the Kamaloka period, as a being of soul-and-spirit, man expands to the boundary demarcated by the orbit of the Moon around the Earth. Beings of various ranks are involved in the process. After that he expands until the Mercury sphere is reached—Mercury as understood in occultism. Thence he expands to the spheres of Venus, Sun, Mars, Jupiter and finally Saturn. The being who has passed through the gate of death becomes in the real sense a Mercury dweller, a Venus dweller and so on, and in a certain sense he must have the faculty to become thoroughly acclimatised in these other planetary worlds. How does he succeed or fail in this respect?

In the first place, when his Kamaloka period is over, a man must himself possess some quality that will enable him to establish a definite relationship with the forces in the Mercury sphere into which he then passes. If the lives of various human beings between death and the new birth are investigated, it will be found that they differ greatly in the Mercury sphere. A clear difference is evident according to whether an individual passes into the Mercury sphere with a moral disposition of soul, with the outcome of a moral or an immoral life. There are of course nuances of every possible degree. A man with a moral quality of soul, who bears within him the fruits of a moral life, is what may be called a spiritually ‘social’ being in the Mercury sphere; it is easy for him to establish relationships with other beings—either with people who died before him or also with beings who inhabit the Mercury sphere—and to share experiences with them. An immoral man becomes a hermit, feels excluded from the community of the other inhabitants of this sphere. Such is the consequence in the life between death and the new birth of a moral or immoral disposition of soul. It is important to understand that morality forges our connection and relationship with the beings living in this sphere and an immoral disposition of soul encloses us as it were in a prison. We know that the other beings are there but we seem to be within a shell and make no contact with them. This self-isolation is an outcome of an earthly life that was unsociable and lacking in morality.

In the next sphere, which we will call the Venus sphere—in occultism it is always so named—a man's contact with it is mainly dependent upon a religious attitude of soul. Contact with the beings of this sphere can be established by individuals who during their life on Earth came to realise that everything transitory in physical things and in man himself is after all related in some way to immortality; thus they had a feeling that the attitude of soul in every individual should incline to divine-spiritual reality. On the other hand, anyone who is a materialist and cannot direct his soul to the Eternal, the Divine, the Immortal, is condemned in the Venus sphere to be imprisoned within his own being, in isolation. Particularly in connection with this sphere we can learn from occult investigation how in our astral body during life on Earth we create the conditions of existence as they will be in the Venus sphere. On the Earth we must already develop understanding of and inclination for what we hope to contact and experience in that sphere. Let us consider for a moment the fact that human beings living on the Earth during entirely different epochs—as was both inevitable and right—were connected with divine-spiritual life through the various religions and prevailing conceptions of the world. The only way in which human evolution could progress was that out of the one source—for example the religious life—at different times and for very different peoples, according to their natural traits and climatic and other conditions of existence, the varying religious principles were imparted by those destined for this mission. These religious principles stem from one source but are graduated according to the conditions prevailing among particular peoples. Humanity today is still divided into groups determined by their religious tenets and views of the world. But it is through what is thereby formed in our souls that we prepare our understanding of and possibility of contacts in the Venus sphere. The religions of the Hindu, of the Chinese, of the Mohammedan, of the Christian, prepare the soul in such a way that in the Venus sphere it will understand and be attracted to those individuals whose souls have been moulded by the same religious tenets. Occult investigation shows clearly that whereas nowadays men on Earth are divided by race, descent and so forth, and can be distinguished by these factors—although this will change in the future and has already begun to do so—in the Venus sphere in which we live together with other human beings there are no such divisions. The only division there depends upon their religious principles and conceptions of the world while they were on the Earth. It is true that to some extent a classification according to race is possible because this classification on Earth—even according to religion—is still, in a certain respect, a matter of racial relationships. All the same, it is not the element of race that is decisive, but what the soul experiences through its adherence to the principles of a particular religion.

We spend certain periods after each death within these spheres; then our being expands and we pass on from the Venus sphere to the Sun sphere. In very truth we become, as souls, Sun dwellers between death and the new birth. Something more than was necessary in the Venus sphere is required for the Sun sphere. If we are to fare well in the Sun sphere between death and the new birth, it is essential to be able to understand not merely one particular group of human beings but to understand and find points of contact with all human souls. In the Sun sphere we feel isolated, like hermits, if the prejudices of one particular faith render us incapable of understanding a human being whose soul has been filled with the principles of a different faith. An individual who on the Earth regarded one particular religion only as valuable is incapable in the Sun sphere of understanding adherents of other religions. But the consequences of this lack of understanding are not the same as they are on Earth. On the Earth men may live side by side without any inner understanding of each other and then separate into different faiths and systems of thought. In the Sun sphere, however, since we interpenetrate one another, we are together and yet at the same time separated in our inner being; and in that sphere every separation and every lack of understanding are at once sources of terrible suffering. Every contact with an adherent of a different faith becomes a reproach which weighs upon us unceasingly and which we cannot escape because on Earth we did not educate ourselves in this respect.

Taking the life between death and the new birth as a starting-point, what is now to be said will in a certain sense be easier to understand if reference is made to Initiation. What the Initiate experiences in the spiritual worlds is in a certain respect closely akin to experiences undergone in the life between death and rebirth. The Initiate has to make his way into the same spheres, and were he to maintain the prejudices resulting from a biased, one-sided view of the world, he would undergo similar suffering in the Sun sphere. It is therefore essential that Initiation should be preceded by thorough understanding of every religious faith spread over the Earth, also understanding of what is taking place in every individual soul regardless of the creed or system of thought to which it adheres. Otherwise, whatever has not been met with understanding becomes a source of suffering, as if towering mountains were threatening to crash down upon one, as if explosions were discharging their whole force upon one. Whatever lack of understanding due to one's own narrow prejudices has been shown to human beings on Earth, has this effect in the spiritual worlds.

It was not always so. In pre-Christian times the process of evolution did not require men unconditionally to acquire this understanding of every human soul. Humanity was obliged to pass through the phase of a one-sided attitude. But those who were trained for some kind of leadership in the world were obliged to acquire, either consciously or less consciously, an understanding for every human being without distinction. Even when some individual was to be the leader of a particular people he would be required to develop a measure of understanding for every human soul. This is indicated magnificently in the Old Testament in the passage describing the meeting between Abraham and Melchizedek, the priest of the Most High. Those who understand this passage know that Abraham, who was destined to become the leader of his people, underwent an Initiation at this time—even if not in full consciousness as is the case in later Initiations. Abraham's Initiation was connected with realisation of the Divine element that can flow into all human souls. The passage which tells of the meeting of Abraham with Melchizedek contains a deep secret connected with the evolution of humanity. But men had gradually to be prepared to become more and more qualified for a fruitful existence in the Sun sphere.

The first impulse in the evolution of our Earth towards a fruitful existence in the Sun sphere was given by the Mystery of Golgotha, after preparation for it had been made by the people of the Old Testament—about which there will be more to say. It is not essential at the moment to deal with the question as to whether Christianity in its development hitherto has achieved all its goals and possible fruits. Needless to say, in its various sects and denominations Christianity has produced only one-sided aspects of its essential principle; in certain of its tenets, and as a whole, it is not on the level of certain other faiths. What really matters, however, is its potentiality of development, what enrichment it can give to one who penetrates more and more deeply into its essential truth.

We have already tried to indicate these possibilities of development. There is infinitely much to be said, but one matter only shall now be mentioned because it can throw light upon the point under consideration at the moment. If we have a genuine understanding of the different faiths we find one outstanding characteristic, namely that in the earlier periods of Earth evolution the individual religions were adapted to the particular races, tribal stocks or peoples. There is still evidence of this. Only one who has been born a Hindu can be an orthodox adherent of the Hindu religion today. In a certain respect the earlier religions are racial religions, folk-religions. Do not take this as disparagement but simply as characterisation. The different religions, although deriving from the primal source of a universal world-religion, were given to the peoples by the Initiates and adapted to the specific tribal stocks and races; hence in that sense there is something egoistic about them. Peoples have always loved the religion that has been determined by their own flesh and blood. In ancient times, when a religion stemming from a Mystery Centre had been established among a particular people, a bodily stranger who wanted to start another religion among them did not do so, but instead founded a second Mystery Centre. People were always given a leader from their own tribe or clan.

In this respect true Christianity is very different. Christ Jesus, the Individuality to whom the Christians turn, was least active among the people and in the area on the Earth where He was born. In respect of religion, can conditions in the Western world be equated with those existing in India or China where folk-religions still survive? No, they cannot! The regions where we ourselves are living could be equated with India and China only if here, in Middle Europe, we were, for example, faithful followers of Wotan. We should then be at the same stage and the element of religious egoism would be in evidence here too. But in the West this aspect has disappeared, for the West accepted a religion that was not confined to any particular folk-community. This fact must be remembered. The influences which bound blood to blood and were a determining factor in the founding of the old religious communities, played no part in the spread of Christianity. The life of soul was the essential factor and in the West a religion unconnected with a single people or folk-community was adopted. Why has it been so? It is because in its deepest roots and from the very beginning Christianity was meant to be a religion for all men without distinction of belief, nationality, descent, race, and whatever separates human beings from one another. Christianity is rightly understood only when it is realised that it is concerned solely with the essentially human element in all men. The fact that in its early phases and also in our own times sects have arisen from Christianity should be no cause of apprehension; for Christianity makes possible the evolution of the “human universal”. It is also true that a great transformation will have to take place within the Christian world if the roots of Christianity are to be rightly understood. A distinction will have to be made between knowledge of Christian tenets and the reality of Christianity.

St. Paul did in fact begin to make this distinction and those who understand his words can realise something of what they mean, although up to now understanding has been rare. When St. Paul made it clear that belief in Christ Jesus was not the prerogative of Judaism, and spoke the words, “Christ died not only for the Jews but also for the Gentiles”, this was an enormous contribution to the true conception of Christianity. It would be quite false to maintain that the Mystery of Golgotha was fulfilled only for those who call themselves Christians. The Mystery of Golgotha was fulfilled for all men! This is indeed what St. Paul meant in the words just quoted. What passed over from the Mystery of Golgotha into earthly life has meaning and significance for all that life. Grotesque as it may still seem today to those who do not distinguish between knowledge and reality, it must nevertheless be said that he alone understands the roots of Christianity who can view an adherent of a different religion—no matter whether he calls himself Indian, or Chinese, or anything else—in such a way that he asks himself: To what extent is he Christ-like? The fact of knowing this is not what really matters; what does matter is that such a person knows the reality of Christianity—in the sense that it is not essential to know physiology provided that digestion takes place. A man whose religion has failed to bring about in him a conscious relationship to the Mystery of Golgotha has no understanding of it, but that does not entitle others to deny him the reality of Christianity. Not until Christians become so truly Christian that they seek for the Christ-like principle in all souls on Earth—not when they have implanted it in the souls of others by attempts at conversion—not until then will the root principles of Christianity have been understood. All this belongs to Christianity when rightly understood. Distinction must be made between the reality of Christianity and an understanding of it. To understand what has been present on the Earth since the Mystery of Golgotha is a great ideal, the ideal of supremely important knowledge for the Earth—knowledge that men will gradually acquire. But the reality itself has come to pass; the Mystery of Golgotha was fulfilled.

Our life in the Sun sphere after death depends upon what relationship we have established with the Mystery of Golgotha. The contact with all human souls that can be experienced in the Sun sphere is possible only if a relationship with the Mystery of Golgotha has been established in the way described. It is a relationship which ensures freedom from any still imperfect form of Christianity as practised in this or that sect. If we have no such relationship with the Mystery of Golgotha we condemn ourselves to becoming solitary individuals in the Sun sphere, unable to make contact with other human souls. There is a certain utterance which retains its power even in the Sun sphere. When in the Sun sphere we encounter another human soul we can become companions and not be thrust away from that soul, if these words have been preserved in our inner being: “When two or three are gathered together in my Name, there am I in the midst of them.” In the Sun sphere all human souls can be united with one another in a true recognition of Christ. And this union is of tremendous significance. For in the Sun sphere a man must make a decision; he must acquire a certain understanding. And what this means can best be explained by referring to an extraordinarily important fact which every human soul would be able to realise but does not always do so. One of the most beautiful sayings in the New Testament occurs when Christ Jesus is endeavouring to make men conscious of the divine-spiritual core of being within them, of the truth that God is present as the divine spark in every human soul, that every human being has divinity within him. Christ Jesus emphasises this, declaring with all power and intensity: “Ye are Gods!” The emphasis laid upon the words shows that He recognised this as a rightful claim when a man applies its implications to himself. But this utterance was also made by another Being. The Old Testament tells us in symbolic words at what point in evolution it was made. At the very beginning of man's evolution, Lucifer proclaimed: “Ye shall be as Gods!” This is something that must be noticed. A saying in identical terms is uttered by two Beings: by Lucifer and by Christ! “Ye shall be as Gods.” What does the Bible imply by giving emphasis to these two utterances? It implies that from Lucifer this utterance leads to a curse, from Christ to the highest blessing. Is there not a wonderful mystery here? The words hurled into humanity by Lucifer, the Tempter—when uttered by Christ to men are supreme wisdom. That what is really important is not the content of an utterance but from whom it comes—this fact is inscribed in letters of power into the biblical record. From an instance such as this let us feel that it behoves us to understand things in adequate depth and that we can learn a very great deal from what may lie openly before us.

It is in the Sun sphere between death and the new birth that again and again we hear the words spoken to our soul with all their force: Thou art a God, be as a God! We know with all certainty when we arrive in the Sun sphere that Lucifer meets us again and impresses the meaning of this utterance forcibly upon us. From then onwards we can understand Lucifer very well, but Christ only if on Earth we have prepared ourselves to understand Him. Christ's utterance will have no meaning for us in the Sun sphere if by our relationship on Earth to the mystery of Golgotha we have not gained some understanding of it. Trivial as the following words may be, let me say this: In the Sun sphere we find two thrones. From the throne of Lucifer—which is always occupied—there sound the words of temptation, asserting our divinity. The second throne seems to us—or rather to many human beings—to be still empty, for on this other throne in the Sun sphere between death and the new birth, we have to discover what can be called the Akashic picture of Christ. If we can find the Akashic picture of Christ it will be for us a blessing—this will become evident in later lectures. But it has become possible to find that picture only because Christ came down from the Sun and has united Himself with the Earth and because we have been able to open our eyes of spirit here on Earth through understanding in some measure the Mystery of Golgotha. This will ensure that the throne of Christ in the Sun sphere does not appear empty to us but that the deeds He performed while His dwelling-place was still the Sun sphere become visible. As I said, I have to use trivial words in speaking of these two thrones; this sublime fact can only be spoken of figuratively. But anyone who acquires more and more understanding will realise that words coined on Earth are inadequate and that one is obliged to resort to imagery in order to be intelligible.

Now we shall understand and find support for what we need in the Sun sphere only if on the Earth we have acquired something that plays not only into the astral forces but into the etheric forces as well. You will know from what I have previously said that the religions influence the etheric forces and the etheric body of man. A considerable spiritual heirloom is available for all of us inasmuch as forces from the Sun sphere are instilled into us if we have acquired understanding of the Mystery of Golgotha. For it is from the Sun sphere that we must draw the forces necessary for the renewal of our etheric body for the next incarnation; whereas the forces necessary for our astral body in the next incarnation must be drawn from the other planetary spheres.

Let nobody believe that what I have been saying is unconnected with the whole course of evolution. I have told you that already in pre-Christian times a leader of humanity such as Abraham was able at his meeting with Melchizedek (or Malkezadek) to acquire the forces needed for the Sun sphere. I am making no intolerant statement implying that man can acquire the forces necessary for establishing a right relationship to the beings of the Sun sphere through orthodox Christianity alone. I am stating a fact of evolution; another fact is that the time when it was still possible, as in ancient days, to behold the Akashic picture of Christ as the result of different means is drawing nearer and nearer to a close as evolution proceeds. Abraham's spiritual eyes were fully open to the Akashic picture of Christ in the Sun sphere. You must not argue that the Mystery of Golgotha had not then taken place and that Christ was still in the Sun sphere; for during that period Christ was united with other planetary spheres. It is indeed a fact that at that time and even down to our own epoch, human beings were able to perceive what could be perceived in those spheres. And if we go still further back to those primeval ages when the Holy Rishis were the first Teachers of the people of ancient India, those Teachers certainly had knowledge of Christ who at that time was still in the Sun sphere, and they imparted this knowledge and understanding to their followers, although of course not using the later nomenclature. Although in those ancient times the Mystery of Golgotha was not yet within their ken, men were able, by drawing intimate truths from the depths of their being, to acquire from the Sun sphere what was needed for the renewal of their etheric bodies. But these possibilities ceased as evolution proceeded and this was necessary because new forces must perpetually be instilled into humanity.

What has been said is meant to indicate a fact of evolution. We are moving towards a future when it will be less and less possible for men during the period between death and the new birth to live through their existence in the Sun sphere in the right way if they alienate themselves from the Christ Event. True it is that we must look for the Christ-like quality in each soul. If we are to understand the root of Christianity we must ask ourselves in the case of everyone we meet; how much in his nature is Christ-like? But it is also true that a man can sever himself from Christianity if he fails to become conscious of what it is in reality. And when we remind ourselves again of St. Paul's words, that Christ died not only for the Jews but also for the Gentiles, we must also add that if in the course of further progress men were more and more to deny the reality of the Mystery of Golgotha they would prevent what was done for their sake from reaching them. The Mystery of Golgotha was a deed of blessing for all mankind. Every human being is free to allow that event to influence him or not; but the effect of the influence will in future depend more and more upon the extent to which he is able to draw from the Sun sphere the forces required to ensure that his etheric body shall be rightly formed in his next incarnation. The immeasurable consequences of this for the whole future of the human race on Earth will be considered in the forthcoming lectures.

Thus Christianity, admittedly little understood, yet always connected with the Mystery of Golgotha, is the first preparation if humanity is to regain the relationship to the Sun sphere. A second impulse would be the genuine anthroposophical understanding of the Mystery of Golgotha. After a human being has adjusted himself to existence in the Sun sphere his life expands further outwards, into the Mars sphere, for example. What is essential is that he not only establishes the right relationship to the forces of the Sun sphere but maintains this relationship when his life expands into the Mars sphere. In order that his consciousness shall not become dim, shall not fade away altogether after the Sun sphere but that he can carry it over into the Mars sphere, it is necessary in the present cycle of human evolution that spiritual understanding of the gist of our religions and conceptions of the world shall take root in the souls of men. Hence the endeavours to understand the essence of religions and systems of thought. Spiritual-scientific understanding will eventually be replaced by another, quite different understanding of which men today cannot even dream. For certain as it is that a truth is right in an epoch possessed of a genuine sense of truth, it is also a fact that continually new impulses will make their way into the evolution of humanity. True indeed it is that what Anthroposophy has to give is right for a particular epoch, and humanity, having assimilated Anthroposophy, may bear it into later times as an inner impulse and through these forces also acquire the forces of the later epoch.

Thus it has been possible to show the relationship of man’s life on Earth to the life between death and the new birth. Nobody can fail to realise that it is just as necessary for a human being to have knowledge, feeling and perceptiveness of the life between death and the new birth as of earthly life itself. For when he enters earthly life at birth, the confidence, strength and hopefulness connected with that life depend upon what forces he brings with him from the life between the last death and the present birth. But again, the forces we are able to acquire during that life depend upon our conduct in the earlier incarnation, upon our moral and religious disposition or the quality of our attitude of soul. We must realise that whether the future evolution of the human race will be furthered or impeded depends upon our active and creative co-operation with the super-sensible world in which we live between death and the new birth. If men failed to acquire the forces able to provide them with healthy astral bodies, the forces in their astral bodies would become ineffective and sterile and humanity would sink into moral and religious turpitude on the Earth. Similarly, if men failed to acquire the forces needed for their etheric bodies, as members of the human race they would wither away on the Earth. Every individual can ask himself the question: In what measure must I co-operate with the spiritual world in order that the Earth shall not be peopled by sickly bodies only? Anthroposophy is not knowledge alone but a responsibility that brings us into connection with the whole nature of the Earth, and sustains that connection.

Guest performance at the Court Theater, Weimar

The person who first explained the greatness of Shakespeare's dramas from the fact that their poet was an actor had a happy, illuminating idea. It is less important that this poet practiced the art of acting professionally than that he was, by his very nature, an actor. It is part of the essence of such a nature that it can, with complete denial of its own personality, immerse itself in other characters. The actor renounces being himself. He is given the opportunity to speak out of other beings. And the more malleable, the more transformable he is, the more of an actor he is. It has a deeply symbolic meaning that we know next to nothing about Shakespeare as a person. What is he to us as a person? He does not speak to us as a person; he speaks to us in roles. He is the true chameleon. He speaks to us as Hamlet, as Lear, as Othello. Shakespeare plays theater, even when he writes plays. He no longer feels what is going on in his soul when he creates the characters in his plays. Because Shakespeare was only an actor, his plays can only be performed by real actors. It will always be the sign of an actor's deficiency if his art fails in Shakespeare's dramas.

These thoughts crossed my mind last Sunday when I saw Mr. Wüllner's Othello. I couldn't shake off a certain impatience throughout the performance. I wanted to see Othello and all I saw all evening was Mr. Wüllner. I wanted to understand how Othello could gradually fall into this terrible rage of jealousy, and I only got to know the feelings that dominate Mr. Wüllner when he looks at Othello. Mr. Wüllner has not the power of self-expression which makes the true actor. At every moment he lets us see to the bottom of his own being.

Do not be unfair to Mr. Wüllner. His art is no small one. He has a great command of his means of expression, he is a master of the nuances of acting. There are many things to praise. But it is annoying when you see such art applied where the main point is missed.

Mr. Wüllner used to be a learned philologist. I think I recognize the scholar in the actor. The scholar lacks the ability to slip into the unknown; he only observes it, he usually just ponders it. And Mr. Wüllner did not play Othello, he played about Othello. He played what he pondered about Othello. But what does the audience care what Mr. Wüllner feels about Othello, no matter how vividly it is felt. I would rather see Mr. Wüllner's feelings and thoughts about the character of Othello set down in a literary work than acted on the stage. I have no doubt that such a work would be interesting. But I am not interested in interesting doctrines on the stage. They don't seem interesting there. It was therefore boring and tiring to watch Mr. Wüllner's Othello to the end. To portray a character in such a way that he stands there as if from a single mould, that the spectator has the feeling with every word, with every gesture, with every step, that all this must be so: this, it seems, Mr. Wüllner cannot do. With every detail one has the feeling that it could be different without changing anything as a whole. Mr. Wüllner offered a mosaic of acting nuances, not a uniform character. His art lacks style. It seems mannered. It represents the flip side of good acting. It denies everything that makes good actors great. Mr. Wüllner cannot eradicate the "doctor" in himself.

On October 2, 1895, the Marie Seebach Foundation was opened in Weimar. The founder created a friendly home for sixteen German stage artists who had become unfit for their profession due to old age or illness. In doing so, she realized a wonderful idea within the limits imposed by the circumstances. Compared to the large number of German stage performers, however, the cause has a modest reputation. It can only be regarded as a fortunate and very grateful suggestion. However, the founder has understood how to set an example that is truly worthy of imitation. If imitation were to take place in abundance and if the same sure sense of what meets the needs were always demonstrated as with Marie Seebach, then an important social issue for German stage artists would indeed be solved.

Guest performance at the Neues Theater, Berlin

The Italians currently call Ermete Zacconi their greatest actor. For a few days now, we have been seeing him every day at the Neues Theater in Berlin. Before that, he did a guest performance at the Carl Theater in Vienna. The news we received about this guest performance from Vienna bordered on the unbelievable. Not since Duse had thrilled the art community in the city on the Danube had anything similar been experienced there. People fell into a delirium when they saw Zacconi. Eight days ago, a Viennese theater critic wrote in this magazine that for weeks, while Zacconi was with them, the theater-goers of Vienna were preoccupied with the question: what is the secret of the great actor? Now we have also seen him here in Berlin. His first role was that of Oswald in the "Ghosts". The message of the Viennese delirium had so little effect on the Berliners that on the third day of his guest performance, when he played Oswald for the third time, Zacconi produced himself in front of empty benches. And there was absolutely no sign of any excitement about the question: what is the secret of the great actor? And I must confess that I, too, cannot quite understand the excitement in Vienna. Zacconi has taught me only one thing. When the art of acting emancipates itself from drama and appears obtrusive and self-important to us, it becomes repulsive. We want the actor to carry out the poet's intentions. We call an actor great when he succeeds in bringing the poet's intentions to the stage in the purest, most unadulterated way. This is the secret of the great actor for anyone of understanding. There is no other. Zacconi has not given us the slightest explanation of this problem. Basically, his art has nothing to do with this kind of acting. It is ridiculous to argue about whether Zacconi is a great actor in the sense that he aspires to be. He is not interested in poetry. He has become acquainted with Ibsen's drama "Ghosts". He has seen that there is a paralytic in it. Now he plays the course of the paralysis in a masterly way. The way in which he portrays the development of this illness in all its phases is of indescribable perfection. Probably nothing better can be created on stage in this direction. He portrays paralysis in ideal perfection, just as Goethe portrays the type of the noble woman in Iphigenia. He elevates a clinical image to a work of art. 'But Ibsen's drama is none of Zacconi's business. Zacconi is indifferent to what happens in this drama apart from Oswald going mad. The whole plot could go differently than Ibsen portrays it: Zacconi would play everything the way he plays it after all, if only one thing were certain, that Oswald is a paralytic. One could become angry when one sees how the intrusive art of the comedian deals with great poetry. But you don't get angry. And that is the strange thing about Zacconi. His art is again so great that you are drawn into its spell. It is so great that one forgives even his acts of violence towards poets. One says to oneself: Ibsen's Oswald is not portrayed by Zacconi. But what Zacconi portrays is interesting in every turn. You follow every word, every gesture, every movement with the most rapt attention. You say to yourself, if an actor can do something so important, let's enjoy him for once, even if he moves in the wrong direction. Zacconi is also forgiven for appearing in the worst possible plays. Where we are not interested in the poet, we are genuinely interested in the actor.

I was curious about Zacconi as Kean. I told myself I was dealing with an actor who was nothing more than an actor, a comedian. In the silly play "Kean", Zacconi had to play a comedian. I thought that must be his best role. It will show what he can actually do. The actor as a human being, I thought, is what he will bring to the stage. What the comedian suffers and what joys he feels, that's what Zacconi will portray, I thought. And strange! It was precisely as Kean that I liked Zacconi the least. He doesn't portray the actor as a human being, but as an actor. Zacconi's Kean is not only acting when he plays Hamlet on stage; he is also acting when he talks to members of high society in the drawing room; he is also acting when he receives visits from his lovers in his dressing room. In Kean, Zacconi has revealed his nature. He has given his whole personality to the art of comedy. His individuality, his soul, has been absorbed into this art and has completely disappeared. He is no longer human at all; he is just a comedian. And he is a comedian in everything he brings to the stage. That's why we admire his tricks, but we are never moved, never enraptured. We try to figure out how he does this and that, but that's as far as our feelings towards him go. He does not depict human actions, but soulless images of these actions.

Zacconi's acting is an independent art. And an art that loses all justification in this independence. Poets could not write dramas for the stage if all actors played the way Zacconi plays. They would only have to write instructions for the actors. Ibsen should not have written his "Ghosts", but the general outline of a plot in which a paralytic appears. He should have left it to the brilliant actor to carry out this plot in detail. As long as playwrights create as they do at present, Zacconi's way makes no sense.

Guest performance in Berlin

If I were to describe in a few words the feeling I have when Adele Sandrock is on stage, I would have to say: I revel in the pleasure of mature, sweet beauty. I leave the theater in the harmonious mood that I usually only have when I have succeeded in completing a difficult work to my complete satisfaction. A soothing calm takes over my soul. Not a calm similar to that which comes from idleness, but a calm similar to that which comes from a properly completed life.

This was not always the case when I saw Adele Sandrock. Ten years ago, when she was just beginning to be regarded by the public as a great actress, I left her performances with a hot head and feverish nerves. Everything in me twitched when I saw her Eva, her Alexandra - in Richard Voss' plays - or even her Anna in Gunnar Heiberg's "King Midas". A great nature spoke from her. Everything one had in the way of vitality excited her. But back then you had to find peace through yourself. It gave you nothing to restore the torn harmony of your soul. There was always something missing that belonged to full beauty. It must also calm the waves it has stirred. Sandrock was once a stormy wind, now she has become a power that knows how to evenly distribute storm and calm. That is why I say her art has the hallmark of mature beauty that comes from harmony.

I believe that Adele Sandrock owes this to the fact that she came to the Burgtheater at the right time. Her style was mature, and in the Burgtheater she found a calm. Beauty blossomed there, but the warmth of passion and temperament had died in this beauty. The whole Burgtheater was like Charlotte Wolter. Adele Sandrock brought with her everything that Charlotte Wolter lacked, and with the manner of a genius she appropriated what she could learn from Wolter.

Now, at her Berlin guest performance, I found in Adele Sandrock all the traits that once made me feel hot, but everything is muted by the noble artistry that was always at home in the Burgtheater.

This was already clear to me on the first evening when she played Francillon. It became even clearer to me during the performance of "Mary Stuart". This Mary was all life and also all art. The innocent-guilty woman appeared in large, noble-beautiful features, in whom one could believe at any moment that a noble soul can submit to great misfortune.

And the following evening, this Christine in Schnitzler's brisk, genuinely dramatic, fragrantly beautiful insignificance "Liebelei". The Viennese girl with all the magic of loveliness that is so charming in the city on the Danube. I always had to ask myself: where have I seen this girl? She seemed like a good acquaintance to me. And yet again everything was played in the style of the Burgtheater. Immediately afterwards, the high-spirited, cynical exuberance of Anni in Schnitzler's "Abschiedssouper". The two roles are like black and white, and Sandrock didn't miss a note in either of them.

However, old memories came back most vividly when she played Eva. That was one of the roles in which she shone ten years ago. How differently she plays it now. A noble dignity always forces the erupting passion back into beautiful form. Adele Sandrock says today what she said ten years ago, but she has recast everything in the same way that Goethe recast his Iphigenia in Italy. Her passion is still the same as before, her warmth is still the same as before: but above the passion, above the warmth, stands the personality of the artist, who no longer allows herself to be subdued by the forces of her soul and is driven by them. Today she rules over them with playful power.

When Adele Sandrock recently made a guest appearance in Berlin, she published a short article in the Berliner Tageblatt in which she advocated the employment of female directors. The idea is certainly very appealing, and if one is generally in favor of opening up to women the professions to which prejudice and error have so far prevented them, then one can only applaud the proposal of the great Viennese actress. Nevertheless, one should not suppress reservations in this respect. The reasons put forward by Adele Sandrock are the main reason for this. In many cases, directing is a matter of arrangements that women take care of in real life. They should therefore - in Adele Sandrock's opinion - have more understanding than men when it comes to working out these arrangements on stage. One thing is not taken into account: It is another to do a thing in real life, another to imitate it in the field of art. This seems to be a fundamental error in Adele Sandrock's conception of art. Could not the male imagination be better suited than the female imagination to imitate those things on stage that women do in life? Of course, it cannot be denied that there will always be some women in the ranks of actresses who have a distinct talent for directing. They should not be deprived of the opportunity to use this talent. 'There will also be plays that definitely need a female hand. They will be those in which feminine feelings and views are in the foreground. In short, Adele Sandrock's suggestion will not be easy to reject. Incidentally, Berlin will soon get to know the advantages of a female director - the enterprising Nuscha Butze will not fail to add to the burden of direction in her "theater, which she takes off Lautenburg's shoulders, also that of the "Oberregie", with which her predecessor was also burdened.

Dr. Raphael Löwenfeld, the meritorious director of the Berlin Schiller Theater, has just had the lecture "Volksbildung und Volksunterhaltung" (Popular Education and Popular Entertainment), which he gave on June 8, 1897 at the general assembly of the Gesellschaft für Verbreitung von Volksbildung in Halle a.S., published. He advocates working on the education of more classes of the people through popular theater with cheap admission prices and by organizing lecture evenings. The example of the Schiller Theater, whose activities Löwenfeld describes, illustrates how a popular theater should be conceived. The lecture evenings are intended to present individual artistic personalities to a larger audience. On such an evening, a characterization of a poet or sound artist should first be developed, and this should be followed by declamations or musical reproductions of individual creations by the artists concerned. It is to be hoped that the author's fine intentions will be well received. For one must agree with him when he considers art to be the best means for the further development of a mature person. Those who are no longer able to follow scientific debates after a hard day's work can very well refresh and enrich their minds with the creations of art. Löwenfeld rightly says: "Those who come from gainful employment, physically tired and mentally exhausted, need stimulation in the most appealing form... Not factual knowledge, not specialist training, but intellectual stimulation in the broadest sense is the task of popular education."

November 13, 1897 brings back an interesting memory. It was the centenary of the birth of the composer Gustav Reichardt, to whom we owe the song "Was ist des Deutschen Vaterland". After the wars of liberation, the song was sung in a different melody. It was not suitable to become popular. Reichardt's succeeded to the highest degree. It is said that the composer wrote down the melody in the old little chapel on the Schneekoppe during a hike.

*

An essay by the Berlin court conductor F. Weingartner in the "Neue Deutsche Rundschau" is a true example of unclear thinking. After Weingartner has unreservedly vented his resentment towards the younger composers, their followers and praisers, he describes the "coming man" in music, the savior from the confusion caused by the young originalists. "At first I think of him as independent of all party politics and not concerned with it, because he stands above it; I think of him as neither narrow-mindedly Germanistic nor vapidly international, but as having an all-human feeling, because music is an all-human art; I think of him as being filled with an ardent, unbridled enthusiasm for what has been created by the great spirits of all times and nations, feeling an insurmountable aversion to mediocrity, with which he comes into contact through compulsion, at most once through his own good-naturedness. I imagine him without envy, because he is aware of his own high value and trusts in it, therefore far removed from any petty propaganda for his works, but, if necessary, thoroughly honest, even ruthless, and therefore not particularly popular in many places. I think of him as not fearfully closing himself off from life, but with a tendency towards loneliness - not hating people with exaggerated world-weariness, but despising their pettiness and narrow-mindedness, therefore choosing only exceptions for his closer contact. I imagine him to be not insensitive to success or failure, but not to be moved one step from his path by either, very indifferent to so-called public opinion, a republican in his political views in the sense of Beethoven. ... Feeling himself truly related only to the greatest geniuses, he nevertheless knows that he too is only a new link in the chain which they form together, and also knows that other great ones will follow him. So he too belongs to a direction, but one that hovers above the heads of mankind and flies over them." Does Mr. Weingartner really believe that nature will see fit to realize his fantasies? And if not, why is he writing down his ideal of the future musician? Incidentally, this ideal would be extremely useful for any creative work. If Badeni's successor had the qualities described by Weingartner, the confusion in Austria could give way to the most beautiful harmony. It is incomprehensible how a highly talented artist can please himself with such gimmicks of idle thinking.

*

During these days, the newspapers have been publishing statistical reports on the repertoire of the past season on German stages. They showed that the most popular plays were the Blumenthal-Kadelburg company's "Im weißen Rößl" and "Hans Huckebein", while interest in classical performances had declined considerably. I have long been extremely suspicious of such statements. They say nothing at all. For they do not reveal what our audience is really interested in. We can see that the views of theater directors today no longer correspond to the tastes of the audience. The line-up of our miserable repertoire does not arise from the fact that our audience does not want anything better, but from the fact that the theater directors believe that people only want to see spicy trash. They only try to present something better, as Burckhard, for example, did in his afternoon performances at the Burgtheater in Vienna: the audience really finds itself. There is some truth in the saying: every theater director has the audience he deserves. Our appalling repertoire does not prove a decline in general taste, but only that our theater directors prefer to perform bad plays rather than good ones, and that they therefore attract the lovers of bad plays to the theater, while keeping the audience with better taste away from the theater. Classical performances, presented in a dignified manner, will always have an audience. If the theater directors want to be "poets" at the same time and want to sell their own works of art, then the evil is the greatest imaginable. It should become a kind of rule of decency for theater directors never to perform their own plays at their own institutions. Perhaps such a rule of decency demands some qualities that are not given to everyone; but every code of honor demands such a thing.

I don't see why theater directors should determine taste. In recent years they have shown themselves to be so prejudiced that you don't have to agree with them when they say: we can't put on anything better because no one else will go to the theater. They should try something else. Perhaps they will then have different experiences. I would even seriously advise many of them to stop writing plays.

Stage adaptation

Heinrich Jantsch, the director of the "Wiener Jantsch-Theater", who used to be a member of the Meiningen ensemble, has published a stage adaptation of "Wilhelm Tell" (Halle 1898). He explains that he wants to open a debate with his work about how plays can best be rehearsed. He provides a director's book containing all the instructions necessary for the actors in a play. This director's book should contain everything about a role that takes place while the performer is in front of the audience. One will certainly not be able to refrain from expressing serious reservations about such far-reaching instruction books. Performers who insist on their independence will rebel against such "drill". But consider that the author can hardly have the will to suppress legitimate independence. He wants to make a suggestion - nothing more! "If the performer of the role is intellectually higher than the one who made the 'remark', yes, if he believes he is only allowed to express his own opinion, no one will stop him. He grows beyond the remark, perhaps precisely because of this first suggestion. In any case, it has taken the place of nothing - something!"

It should not be forgotten that in countless cases there will not be enough time to formulate such an opinion. A book like the one Jantsch has in mind must not, of course, be the result of random ideas. It must be the result of a long experience. And then it will serve even the most cradled and talented actor excellently. It must contain what has stood the test of time. "Such a director's book need not be the work of a single person, just as our most beautiful scenery is often created with the help of many actors. Don't complain about the drill that seems to grow out of such a scenario, it is a thousand times better than chaos; it declares war on thoughtlessness on stage." Some of Jantsch's introductory remarks will be reproduced here to characterize the tendency and nature of the proposal.

"The smaller the role, the more necessary the comment and explanation, not only with regard to the external but also the internal design. - Let's take the much-maligned servant roles, one of which is not even mentioned on Lessing's playbill for "Emilia Galotti". - We are at the pleasure palace Dosalo, the prince together with Emilia. Then the prince's mistress, Countess Orsina, intervenes, whom no one had suspected. - A servant delivers this terrifying news with the words:

"The countess is just arriving."

The prince: "The countess? What kind of countess?"

Servant: "Orsina."

The catastrophe of the play germinates in this servant's role! - This slick journeyman, who has grown up in the sins of his master, loses all sense and reason at the news that the Countess has just arrived. - For him, for the prince, for everyone in the castle, she was "the Countess! not Countess Orsina, not the Countess. - In the servant's imagination, there is only one count and one countess at this moment, and this count is the prince himself.

Does the director of the middle stages have time to make these - so necessary - comments? Will he - if he gives them - be thanked by the actor in the role of the servant, who - otherwise a highly esteemed member of the chorus - is reluctant to be "trained"? - In the choir rehearsal he is used to the dressing down, in the play it would be humiliation - so great is the misjudgment. - If the note is written in his role, then it's easier, otherwise the member is not a disavowed enemy of role-reading - which should also happen.

"That's how I recognize my Pappenheimer." The word owes its immortal ridicule to the poor devils who appear in audience with Wallenstein dressed in cardboard armor as the ten cuirassiers of Pappenheim. - As long as the play had been performed before, it was the Meininger who made the cuirassier scene what it is. - There was no laughter! Why should there be? A bit of drill and the audience takes us seriously.

The great value Schiller - the eminent stage practitioner - placed on the role of the servant is demonstrated by the fact that he repeatedly put announcements in the mouths of the heroes themselves. Thus in "Wallenstein" after the monologue "If it were possible". - The Swedish colonel is to be reported. The page enters.

Wallenstein to the page: "The Swedish colonel? Is it him? Well, here he comes!" In Wallenstein we have the example that the message:

"Ten cuirassiers

From Pappenheim demand you in the name

To speak in the name

*

Carl Heine, the director of the theater performances organized by the "Leipziger Literarische Gesellschaft", put together an ensemble with which he gave performances of Ibsen's works in various German cities. On the occasion of the Vienna guest performance of this ensemble, Dr. Heine has now developed the aims and character of his "Ibsen Theatre" in an interesting essay in the weekly magazine "Zeit", the main points of which I think are worth mentioning here.

Heine starts from the conviction that Ibsen is the best school for an ensemble striving for St]. He quite rightly emphasizes that Ibsen is a blessing for actors because they are forced to play not roles and theatrical templates but life types and individualities in his plays. If you want to cast one of Ibsen's later plays - this is not yet the case with the earlier plays - you cannot possibly stick to the old subjects: the bon vivant, the character player, the sedate lover, the chaperone and so on; in Heine's ensemble, the roles of Rank, Aslaksen, Wholesaler Werle, the Stranger, Rosmer and Jörgen Tesmann are all in one hand, as are those of Brendel, Dr. Stockmann, Brack, Hjørgen Tesmann. Stockmann, Brack, Hjalmar Ekdal, Oswald, Günther and Gabriel Borkmann. Such a lack of expertise forces the actor to stick to individual life, to observation, not to the custom and tradition of the theater.

Directing the dialog in Ibsen's dramas also requires a special art. Heine believes that facial expressions and gestures are less important than in older drama. He uses them only as an aid and as sparingly as possible. On the other hand, he attaches great importance to grouping. The position of the characters in relation to each other, their following each other, their fleeing, the elimination of a character and their closer or further distance from the main troupe form, in his opinion, a large part of what is called mood. Only by striking in this direction that which corresponds to the poet's intentions can the illusion be created which is necessary for the audience to properly absorb an Ibsen drama. The difficulty lies in the fact that in almost every work by this poet different means of this kind must be used, because each of these works has its own style. That style which is demanded by the content. Only those who know how to arrange all the details of the stage direction in such a way that they come together, as required by the individual character of an Ibsen play, can stage such a play in an artistic manner. "Ibsen forms a preliminary school for this ideal requirement. Not two of his dramas have the same style. Just compare "Nora", "Enemy of the People", "Rosmersholm>, "Hedda Gabler" and "John Gabriel Borkmann". But each of his dramas has its own, strictly defined form, which becomes more artistic, purer and clearer from drama to drama... Thus Ibsen is also a teacher for the actor in that he leads him from the simpler tasks to the most artistic; and just as in Ibsen's social dramas the men seek truth, the women freedom, so in Ibsen's drama is the school for the actor which can mature him to the ultimate goals of art, to the goals to which art of every age has aspired: to freedom and truth."

*

In numbers 11 and 14 of this magazine, we spoke of the plan to found an Alsatian theater and of the objectives pursued by this foundation. This plan is now approaching its realization. An association has been formed to found the Alsatian Theater. Its chairman is Dr. Julius Greber, the author of the dramatic morality play "Lucie" - which has been banned by the censors -, then the young painter and poet Gustav Stoskopf, as well as Mr. Hauß, editor and newly elected member of the Reichstag, Bastian, the author of Alsatian folk plays, and Horsch.

The author of the article "Theater und Kunst in den Reichslanden" (No. 14 of this journal) has already pointed out that political tendencies were not intended with the new foundation, but that only the desire to see Alsatian folk life on the stage was decisive. The association's statutes are also drafted with this in mind.

Eight novelties are to be performed next winter. Alexander Hessler, the former director of the Stadttheater (Strasbourg), has been appointed artistic director of the new theater company. He is said to have a keen, sure artistic sense and a good eye for judging artistic forces.

If one considers the tremendous success of the popular performances of the people of Schliersee everywhere, one can open up the best prospects for the future to undertakings such as the Alsatian folk theater. Such ventures are very much in line with a remarkable trend of our time. Our art is becoming more and more international in character. Language is almost the only element that still reminds us that art grows out of the soil of nationality. Folkloric and even regional ways of thinking, viewing and feeling are disappearing more and more from the materials of our artistic achievements. And the term "good Europeans" is by no means a mere phrase today. Today, we understand the Parisian mores shown to us from the stage almost as well as those of our home town. In addition to this one extreme direction, however, there is another. Just as we cherish our youthful experiences, we cherish the folkloric idiosyncrasies that are, so to speak, the nation's childhood memories. And the more cosmopolitan culture in general leads us away from them, the more we like to return to them "here and there". Indeed, watching the Schlierseer play today seems like a memory of our youth; a memory of our youth is the content of the plays they perform for us, and a memory of our youth is above all the level of art that we can observe in them.

I would like to see undertakings similar to the Alsatian Theater spring up in various parts of Germany. Perhaps they are the only means of saving the individualities of the countryside for a while longer, which are being mercilessly swept away by the cosmopolitan tide of the times. In the end, however, cosmopolitanism will remain the winner.

*

What actually is "theater"? Hermann Bahr raises this question in issue 200 of Die Zeit. "A poet's play fails, and it is then said that it is unfortunately not "theater" after all. Or we see a crude person dominating the stage with bad things of a mean kind, and the excuse is that he knows what "theater" is. So what is this "theater"? Nobody wants to answer that. Everyone senses that there are things that are not "theatrical" and others that are, but that's all they seem to know. It is claimed: you can't say it, you have to feel it. So we always go round and round in the same circle. When asked what it must be like to be effective in the theater, we are told that it must be theatrical, and when asked what is theatrical, we are told: what is effective in the theater. So we can't get out of the circle."

I am somewhat puzzled by these statements from a man who has always pretended in recent times that he has finally found the key that opens the door to the theatrical. Hermann Bahr was once a terrible striker and rager. He could not do enough in his condemnation of the "theatrical". The pure demands of art were paramount to him. I don't think he thought about it very long ago: what is effective in the theater? What is theatrical? He thought about: what does "modernity" demand of dramatic technique? Then he persecuted everything that violated this "modern" technique in the worst possible way. And if Mr. von Schönthan or Mr. Oskar Blumenthal had come to him back then and told him: your "modernism" is all very well, but it doesn't work in the theater, he would have scolded them for being miserable doers and driven them - albeit only critically - out of the temple of art.

In recent years, Hermann Bahr has become tamer. He has explained this himself.

Marco Brociner had a play performed in Vienna last autumn that was not "art" at all, but only "theater"; Hermann Bahr wrote: "When I was still a striker and a rager, I hated Mr. Marco Brociner's plays. They are what you call "unliterary", and that was terrible for me back then. I was a lonely person back then, such a solitary and independent person who didn't recognize anything and didn't want to submit, but let his mind and taste rule. Now I am more modest; it has become difficult for me, but I have gradually realized that there are other people in the world. They want to live too, but the young man can't understand that. Today I say to myself: I have my taste, other people have a different one; whoever writes what I like is my author, but the others want their authors too, that's just cheap..."

Not only in the essay he wrote about Marco Brociner, but also in quite a few other omissions, Hermann Bahr says that he thinks more modestly today than he once did when he was a "striker and a rager".

The fact that one has to make concessions, this principle of all true philistines, was happily discovered by Hermann Bahr as the last word of wisdom for the time being. He repeated it over and over again in the last issues of "Die Zeit". "The man has learned to obey, he renounces himself, he knows that he is not alone; - he has another passion; he wants to help, wants to work. He feels that the world is not there to be his means, but that he is there for it, to become its servant."

But why am I writing here about Hermann Bahr's latest transformation? Why am I trying to find out what the path is from "Stürmer und Wüterich" to half court councillor?

Only because today, the "half court councillor" raises questions that the "striker and poor rake" would once have described as highly superfluous.

Yes, probably superfluous. And the rest of us, who cannot make up our minds to take the leap into the semi-hierarchical, know how to distinguish between the "theatrical" that crude people bring to the theater with bad things, and the "theatrical" that is genuine and good poetry despite all its "theatricality". A real playwright creates in a theatrical way because his imagination works in a theatrical way.

And if the question is put to us today: "What is theatrical?", we simply laugh. Shakespeare already knew this, and Hermann Bahr would have known it too if he hadn't been on his way from "Stürmer und Wüterich" to tame court councillor.

But that's the way it is: you have to unlearn a lot when you have come so far that you realize what Hermann Bahr realized: "He who has measured his strength and recognizes where he should step with it is immune, nothing can happen to him anymore: because he has become necessary. Becoming necessary, finding your place, knowing your role, that's all."

*

The lawyer Paul Jonas spoke about the current state of theater censorship in Berlin in one of the latest issues of the "Nation" (October 1898). He emphasizes that this current state of affairs has grown into a calamity, and that conditions in this area are hardly better than in the neighbouring Tsarist empire.

As in so many other cases, the guardians of public order are also served by decades-old police regulations when handling the censorship pen. Playwrights writing in the present day are judged according to regulations from July 10, 1851. The High Administrative Court recognized that the censorship pen must pass over matters that "only indicate a remote possibility that the performance of a play could lead to a disturbance of public order", and that this pointed instrument may only be used if there is a "real imminent danger" in prospect. Nevertheless, the pen in question from Hauptmann's "Florian Geyer" found it necessary to destroy the following sentences:

"Eat the plague all clerical servants."

"The priests do nothing with love, but pull the wool over their eyes."

"The Pope barters away Christianity, the German princes barter away the German imperial crown, but the German peasants do not barter away Protestant freedom!"

"If you want to keep your house clean, keep priests and monks out of it."

"The Rhine is commonly called the Pfaffengasse. But where clerics step on a ship, the ship's crew curse and cross themselves, because it is said that clerics bring disaster and ruin to the ship."

What an idea the official wielding the questionable pen must have of the consciousness and feelings of a theatergoer today! A man who can believe that the views of an educated man of the present day could be devastated by hearing the above words from the stage knows nothing of the life we lead today. The behavior described is likely to open the eyes of the widest circles to the gulf that exists between the ideas of the bureaucratic soul, educated in the tradition of the state, and the feelings of those circles that share in the progress of life.

According to the police ordinance of July 10, 1851, kissing appears to be one of the acts that "give rise to moral, safety, regulatory or trade police concerns". This is because a red police line once deleted the passage from Max Halbe's "Jugend":

"Annchen, you are so beautiful! So beautiful when you sit like that. (Grabs her arm.) I could forget everything. (Out of her mind.) Kiss me, kiss me!"

The banning of Sudermann's "Johannes" sheds a particularly harsh light on the police situation. It is a pity that the Higher Administrative Court did not reach a decision on this ban. As is well known, the play was released by an imperial decision. The police authorities had banned the performance because public representations of the biblical history of the Old and New Testaments were "absolutely inadmissible" according to the regulations. And in response to the objections made to this, the Chief President replied that "the presentation on stage of events from biblical history, and in particular from the life story of Jesus Christ, appears likely to offend the religious sensibilities of the listeners and spectators as well as the audience not attending the performances, to cause alarm among large groups of people and to cause disturbances to public order, the preservation of which is the office of the police". The order clearly shows that the official who issued it felt no obligation to first examine the content of the drama and ask himself: is it such that it could offend anyone's religious sensibilities? But this official obviously thinks that the mere fact of seeing the biblical characters on stage is enough to cause such an offense. He has not yet arrived at the modern conception of the theater. He knows nothing of the fact that art comes right next to religion in our perception. He says: every thing is profaned by stage representation. Modern feeling, however, says: it is ennobled by it. The bureaucratic sensibility drags prejudices along with it that the rest of life has been shedding for centuries.

The practical consequence of all this is that the artists and directors of art institutions always have to make the disgusting choice between two evils: either to make concessions to the bureaucratic "spirit" and appear pretty well-behaved on the outside while things are rumbling on the inside, or to constantly tangle with the police powers. If it had been up to the tendencies of the characterized spirit, then in the Cyrano performance of the "Deutsches Theater" a foolish monk should not have been called a "God's sheep" and Madame d'Athis' little fox should not have been given an enema. It was also considered reprehensible that the king's stomach clenching had been presented by the doctors as an insult to his majesty and that his sublime pulse had been restored.

The dispute that broke out between the police authorities and the Deutsches Theater over these lines may be discussed at another time. For this time, it was only a matter of contrasting the "spirit" of police power and the spirit of life in the present. The essay "Censorship Pranks" by Dr. P. Jonas provided a desirable starting point for this.

*

Adam Müller Guttenbrunn, the director of Vienna's new Kaiserjubiläums-Stadttheater, has just published Kleist's "Hermannsschlacht". The introduction he has written to the drama deals less with its artistic qualities than with Kleist's love for Austria. This love can be explained by the circumstances in which Kleist lived. At the time when Napoleon was humiliating the Germans, the manly actions of Emperor Franz and his commander, Archduke Carl, were an inspiring act. The reason why Müller-Guttenbrunn, in a preface to Kleist's "Hermannsschlacht", emphasizes everything that the poet said in praise of Austria in order to be able to call the drama "A poem on Austria" is probably that the new theater director needed a hymn to his fatherland for his temple of art built for the 50th anniversary.

*

In the important treatise "On the Use of the Chorus in Tragedy", which preceded his "The Bride of Messina", Schiller showed how deeply connected the question of the chorus is with ideas about the nature of dramatic art. No one is qualified to speak about idealism and realism in drama who has not fully clarified this question. In realistic or even naturalistic drama, the chorus is of course an absurdity. In stylized drama it is not. Stylized drama must incorporate symbols into its body. It will want to express things that cannot be expressed with the means that everyday life has for its expression. In drama, things often have to be said that cannot be put into the mouth of a single person.

Any attempt to describe the significance of the chorus in tragedy must therefore be welcomed with joy. One such attempt is the booklet by Dr. Friedrich Klein "Der Chor in den wichtigsten Tragödien der französischen Renaissance" (Erlangen and Leipzig 1897). The author has carefully studied the large number of "Poetics and verse doctrines in metrical and prosaic form" as well as the extensive commentaries on Aristotle's "Poetics", which "have been published in Italy and France since the middle of the sixteenth century", and on the basis of this study has provided excellent information on "the state of theoretical knowledge of the tragic chorus in the sixteenth century". These pages will provide a detailed examination of the work. [Has not been published.

*

Since there are still supposed to be people with a rabble-rousing attitude in some corner of the world, I would like to expressly note that the above essay ["Auch ein Kritiker" by L. Gutmann] was sent to me by a man whose name I have not yet known, and that I would consider it cowardice to reject it with regard to the rabble. I myself have no need to defend myself to Mr. Kerr. He calls me a critic to ball; I confess that I enjoy the idea of the "balling Kerr" as much as his observations, written in a learned Gigerl style, on the societies of western Berlin, his landlord and other important matters. I am only reprinting the above essay because it shows what dares to pose as a great man.

*

A highly significant work for German dramaturgy has just been published: "Deutsche Bühnenaussprache. Results of the consultations on the balancing regulation of the German stage pronunciation, which took place from April 14 to 16, 1898 in the Apollosaale of the Königliches Schauspielhaus in Berlin. Published by Theodor Siebs on behalf of the commission (Berlin, Cologne, Leipzig 1898). - The "Dramaturgische Blätter" will soon publish a detailed report on this important publication. [The report has not been published}

*

In the work "Unser Wissen", which is published in Vienna, Richard Specht has published a particularly successful dramaturgical study under the title "Zehn Jahre Burgtheater". The only possible approach to the theater is characterized here with excellent words: "The play that the poet has completed at his desk can be a work of art - it is only a dramatic work of art from the moment it appears, in other words, from the moment it is able to make a complete artistic impression on the stage through the help of creative personalities other than the poet. It is obvious that this assistance is only possible when the work itself remains imperfect per se, when it leaves room for the artistic creations of others - the actors, the director, the musician, the painter. Those masterpieces of dramatic form whose vessel is completely filled by the soul of the poet and which leave no room for the artistic drive of others have hardly ever been done justice to by a stage performance. This is not because there is "too little" performing art, but because in such works the performing art is simply - too much. A play in which the personality of the poet predominates so immensely that it completely prevents the expression of the personality of the actor is a play which makes an equal or greater impression on the reader than on the listener. Thus the stage is rendered superfluous for such a play, which here cannot supplement but merely interfere, and thus such a drama is perhaps a nobler work of art, but certainly a bad play. The ideal of "good plays" in this sense will probably always remain "Hamlet".

This will have to be emphasized again and again in the face of so many attempts to misjudge the nature of the theater and to portray its significance within artistic life in a distorted light."

A second passage of the essay should be mentioned here, which views Burckhard's departure from the Viennese court theater from the point of view characterized by the above fundamental dramaturgical truth. Specht says of Burckhard: "He has brought literary life into the theater, but he has weakened the acting life. The stage, however, can only live primarily from the actor, and despite the successful attempts to help modern acting styles achieve a breakthrough, the actual fame of the Burgtheater - as a whole a wonderful ensemble and individually splendid people who are able to express themselves as actors - has declined considerably under him, if not been lost altogether. Nevertheless, it must be said that he himself learned so much during his time as director that Max Burckhard's name could have been mentioned when looking for the next capable director. But the bitterness and spitefulness of the too often justifiably angry and irritated artists would have been too great to be able to think of fruitful joint work, and this consideration alone had to be enough to make Burckhard's departure an irrevocable one."

The sinner Max Halbe in front of the forum of the archiepiscopal ordinariate in Freiburg im Breisgau

The following letter from the Archbishop of Freiburg: "Disparagement of the Catholic clergy by the theater" looks like a document that has been dormant in the archives for a long time. However, it was written in our day and refers to a dramatic work of art of our time.

"We have the honor to inform the Grand Ducal Ministry of Justice, Worship and Education:

In the second half of April, the "Youth" by Max Halbe was performed at the Court and National Theater in Mannheim. The Catholic press ("Neues Mannheimer Volksblatt, No.91 and 99) rightly took cause from this to protest in the strongest terms against such an abuse of the stage. In view of this public accusation against the Mannheim theater management of having "prepared and more than conceivably narrated an act of indecency in a Catholic rectory in all its details", we could not avoid the task of reviewing the play in question. To our great regret, we have to conclude that the performance of such a play is nothing other than a refined

is nothing other than a subtle and serious disparagement of the Catholic clergy, against which it is our duty to protest. We only want to emphasize that in the play a chaplain "comes to the coffee table in the Messornav, that neither of the two priests in the play has chosen his profession with the moral seriousness that the Church demands and his holiness prescribes, that the chaplain represents scandalous principles about the choice of profession, that on the one hand he behaves as an angry fanatic and yet on the other hand dances with a girl after obtaining the dispensation of the priest. At the end there is an "absolution", which is a degradation of the sacrament of penance. Considering the downright immoral character of the play, we believe that it is in the interests of public order and morality to take action against such abuse of a theater, and we urgently request that measures be taken to prevent it in the future. signed. Thomas. Keller." Should one regard such manifestations of the Catholic Church as a symptom of the growing self-confidence of the representatives of medieval views? Given the regressive nature of our "new course", such a view cannot be ruled out. Max Halbe will now, of course, "laudably submit" to Professor Schell's example and henceforth only represent the sentiments of the infallible Roman chair in his dramas.

*

Prof. Dr. Walter Simon, city councillor in Königsberg i. Pr., who is known in wide circles as a warm-hearted patron of the arts, announced a competition for ten thousand marks to win a new German folk opera for the German stage. This is probably one of the most gratifying manifestations of German interest in the arts for a long time. All German and German-Austrian composers may take part in the competition. Full-length operas which have not yet been performed and which deal with a German bourgeois subject, such as Goethe's "Hermann and Dorothea", are eligible. Material from more recent German or Prussian history, since Frederick the Great (for example Eleonore Prochaska), as well as freely invented material are also welcome. The works are to be sent postage paid in score, piano reduction and book to the chief director of the Leipzig City Theatres, Mr. Albert Goldberg, entrusted by the prize donor with the implementation of the competition, by July 1, 1901 at the latest, observing the usual regulations, about which the printed regulations of Prof. Dr. Walter Simon's competition provide more detailed information. These regulations will be sent to interested parties free of charge and postage upon written request by Mr. Goldberg, Leipzig, Neues Theater. The following gentlemen, who enjoy a well-established reputation in the theatrical world, have taken on the role of judges: Senior director Anton Fuchs, Munich, senior director Math.Schön, Karlsruhe, Großh. Hoftheater, senior director Hofrat Harlacher, Stuttgart, Kgl. Hoftheater, Hofkapellmeister Aug. Klughardt, Dessau, Herzogl. Hoftheater, Königl. Kapellmeister Prof. Mannstädt, Wiesbaden, Kgl. Theater, Prof. Arno Kleffel, Cologne, Stadttheater, and senior director Albert Goldberg, Leipzig, Stadttheater. It should be of particular value to the composers that the prize-winning opera will also be performed immediately at the Leipzig Stadttheater.

Mr. Dr. Erich Urban, our former music critic

A lively protest has been raised from respectable quarters against the way Dr. Erich Urban spoke here two weeks ago about Mrs. Carrefio and Mrs. Haasters. It was said that neither the sentence about Mrs. Carrefio's arms nor the one about Mrs. Haaster's marital love had any place in an art review. It seems that the indignation was also directed at me, the editor responsible for the magazine, who allowed such things to be printed in the paper. I owe the public an explanation. Dr. Erich Urban came to me some time ago and asked me to start his critical career in the "Magazin". I was reasonably pleased with the work he submitted for my consideration and, despite his youthfulness, I gave him a try. It went quite well at first. His reviews were not bad and met with some applause. This acclaim was the young man's undoing. It went to his head. It didn't make his reviews any better. Recently, I was forced to let the red pencil work on Mr. Urban's manuscripts in an unusual way. What would the complaining Mr. Bos and Mr. Woldemar Sacks say if they had seen what my red pencil has been doing over the last few weeks! Now one receives current reviews at the last moment before the end of a paper. You have to check them in a short time. My red pencil, which I usually use against Mr. Urban, failed in the criticized passages. I overlooked them. They therefore remained. I had already made the decision not to present Mr. Urban's reviews to the readers of the "Magazin" before the complaint reached me. The conclusion of the last review he wrote for us appears today.

Furthermore, I can only say that I regret having been mistaken about Mr. Erich Urban and that I am completely on the side of his accusers. Unfortunately, he has not been able to escape the influence of the critical nature that I have in mind in my editorial today, and which I strongly condemn. In his youthfulness, he has become an imitator of bad role models. There are enough of these role models. But these gentlemen are clever and know how to keep a sense of proportion. Mr. Urban did not understand such moderation. He did not merely imitate mistakes, but applied them in an enlarged form. He wanted to be quite amusing, and what he wrote with this intention became merely tactless.

But to those gentlemen who cannot forgive the fact that my red pencil slipped once, I wish that nothing worse ever happens to them in their lives.

For an announcement[1]

We intend to discontinue publication of the "Dramaturgische Blätter", a supplement to the "Magazin für Literatur", as of January 1, 1900. In doing so, we are responding to a very often expressed wish from the readers of this weekly publication. They were not sympathetic to a supplement dealing with the special issues of the stage and dramaturgy. When the current management founded the "Dramaturgische Blätter", they hoped that there would be a lively interest among stage members and others close to the theater in dealing with questions of their own art and its connection with other cultural tasks. Experience has not confirmed this, and the above "announcement" recently proves that the hopes cherished in this direction cannot count on fulfillment. It was not possible to achieve more active participation by members of the stage. However, publications such as the "Schiedsgerichtsverhandlungen des deutschen Bühnenvereins" (Arbitration Negotiations of the German Stage Association) put the patience of other readers to the test in the belief that they were serving a special class. These readers will prefer to see the space previously occupied by such pedantic-legal, lengthy and, for non-stage members, completely uninteresting discussions filled with things that belong to the field of literature and art.

1 I hereby inform the general public that our contractual relationship with the "Dramaturgische Blätter" has been terminated by me as of January 1, 1900.

The President of the German Stage Association: Count von Hochberg

I have been the editor of this magazine for more than three years. I took up my task in July 1897 with the best of expectations. My intention was, without any concession in any direction, to express a certain view of the world and of life and to serve contemporary art and public life in the spirit of this view. I was reluctant to use any other means to achieve my goals than the inner strength of this view itself, in whose value I believe and for which I will always devote my life. I was particularly reluctant to achieve an effect by gaining "sonorous" names that are well established with the public or by exploiting sensational events. It was my intention from the outset to stand up for the cause I represent within the framework of this magazine for as long as this is possible through its content alone. More important to me than "illustrious" names was to introduce newly emerging talents to the public, who in my opinion were justified; I attached particular importance to giving a voice to those who, as lone fighters with their views, had little prospect of expressing them elsewhere.

I can leave it to the unbiased readers of this magazine to judge the extent to which I have fulfilled my intentions. I have not lacked the approval of those whose judgment is of the highest value to me. The friends I have seen rise to my cause have been able to give me complete satisfaction over some of the hostility I have naturally received.

From the very beginning of my editorial work, I was under no illusion that my intentions could only be achieved through sacrifices of the most varied kind and, as the circumstances were, only through difficult struggles. I can say that for three years I willingly made these sacrifices and took on these battles for the sake of the cause. The approval of many an estimable personality has helped me to overcome many difficulties. Making these sacrifices any longer is beyond my strength.

The "Magazin für Literatur" was founded in the year of Goethe's death. More than anything else, the fact that it has maintained its existence to this day testifies to the importance of this existence. Under different management, it will continue to serve art, science and public life.

I am not handing over the reins with a light heart, because over the past three years I have become more attached to this magazine than I would like to say. It has been a matter close to my heart, but I am stepping down without bitterness. I am aware that I have worked in the way that was only possible for me. I carry within me the feeling that my goals have an inner justification and that I will continue to find ways and means to dedicate my life to them. May those who have become my friends through this magazine accept here the expression of my deepest gratitude. Through my editorship, an inner necessity has brought me together with many people from whom an external event, such as giving up this editorship, can no longer separate me.

The two gentlemen who are approaching the task of continuing this magazine with full, fresh energy are known to their readers through their proven collaborations. Johannes Gaulke, the subtle and energetic art writer and critic, and the no less esteemed writer and artist Franz Philips will take on this task. I place the leadership in their hands with the best wishes that they may be granted abundant success. I cannot, however, refrain from adding my heartfelt thanks to all the friends who have supported me and to the staff and friends of the "Magazin", as well as to S. Cronbach and his publishing house, who have met me with true understanding, interest in the cause and willingness to make sacrifices. The fact that the publishing house is being continued by this company gives me particular satisfaction.

A cycle of one-act plays by Otto Erich Hartleben
Performance at the Lessing Theater, Berlin

Otto Erich Hartleben travels to Rome every year. I now understand that certain philistines have to visit a North Sea resort every year, but why Otto Erich has to go to Italy at the same time of year every year: that seemed to me to be worth asking the bearer of this peculiar habit before the last trip to Rome. I found a suitable hour for this question - and in this way I received an answer. Otto Erich told me that he had to go to Rome every year to escape the misery of life in Berlin. In this beautiful city one is a resident and therefore plagued by a thousand little things, day and night. I won't even conceal the fact that on this occasion he spoke of the trouble that his co-editorship of the "Magazin für Literatur" caused him. In short: in Berlin, one is forced to see the "small lines" that life draws. Otto Erich Hartleben wants to escape these small lines for a few weeks every year to see life in "big lines".

This is Otto Erich Hartleben. There is no pinnacle of observation that he could not stand on to look at life. But he looks for the most comfortable way to reach this pinnacle. There is an old saying that there is no royal road to mathematics. I suspect that Otto Erich will never bother with mathematics. I don't know of any depths of worldview that are not accessible to him. But he gets quite disgusting when it takes work to get to the depths. He knows the seriousness of life like no other, but he has the gift of taking this seriousness as lightly as possible. I have never met a person in whom I have found a noble Epicureanism as realized as in him. He is a man of pleasure, but the pleasures he seeks must have exquisite qualities. He is incapable of doing anything remotely reminiscent of the common.

Everything he does has greatness. And his greatness never gives the appearance of importance. He prefers to make a suitable joke when the others start to get pathetic and attach lead balls to their speeches so that they are taken seriously.

You have to know these characteristics of Otto Erich Hartleben to understand the first play in his cycle of one-act plays, "The Stranger". When I read it, I immediately remembered the "great lines" for the sake of which he goes to Rome every year. It's the eternal problem: a woman has loved one man, married another for some reason, can't bear it, and finds delayed happiness with the first one she loved. How this plays out in life is basically irrelevant. The depth lies in the relationships between people. And Hartleben has depicted these relationships in "broad strokes". Whether the people who want to "see" everything get their money's worth is also irrelevant. For these people, who ask what is "going on", the poet would of course have had to invent a "dramatic fable" with all kinds of interesting details and work them into three acts. But he didn't bother with these people. That's why he "disregarded all the details" and presented the main features of the story. Goethe, who wrote "Tasso", would have enjoyed the "Stranger".

From the performance I expected above all greatness and style. I found none of that. Theater was everything. But this little drama requires art. It would have been an honorary task for the Lessing Theatre to show what can be achieved through theater. A good performance of this one-act play could have silenced all the speeches of the opponents of modern theater for a while. I'm sorry, but I have to say it: when I read the drama, I felt greatness, the Hartleben greatness I described earlier. When I saw it, I felt no trace of this greatness. Everything was reduced to the smallest detail. I would have loved to run away.

The second one-act play, "Farewell to the Regiment", seems much less valuable to me than "The Stranger". I can take no particular interest in either the officer's wife, who has been married by the man so that he can pay his debts, or this man, whom she is cheating on with a regimental comrade. interest. The fact that in the end the affair is revealed, the officer is transferred to another garrison and killed by the seducer after the farewell dinner: all this is all the same to me. But I have nothing to say about that. What I do want to talk about is Hartleben's mastery of dramatic technique. Everything fits together perfectly here: you are swept along by the "how", even if the "what" is all the same to you.

I don't want to dwell on this weakest of the four one-act plays. It was followed by "Die sittliche Forderung". Rita Revera has escaped from Rudolstadt, which is under moral pressure, and has become a celebrated singer. She finds "Friedrich Stierwald, merchant, owner of the company C. W. Stierwald & Söhne in Rudolstadt". He wants to lead her back into the moral life of Rudolstadt. In his opinion, it had to: because one had to be moral in order for morality to exist. Incidentally, Alfred, my Kerr, says: "Weiland Paul Lindau made the same joke. He shouted: What would morality be for if you didn't have it?" But good Kerr: do you understand neither Lindau nor Hartleben? I really don't have time to tell you anything about the difference now. I'm just asking you: don't you know that Nietzsche would have been delighted by the "moral demand" and that he would have liked Paul Lindau ... - no further. Yes, I read your Berlin letters from Breslau and should actually know that you do not like Nietzsche.

I'm coming to the last one-act play, "The Lore". I have always found the story of the "torn button" so delightful that I think the publisher S. Fischer has made the most brilliant business with it and everyone knows it. So I won't tell you about it. I will only say this much: to see it dramatized on the stage is a rare pleasure. Here, what Otto Erich has in his power, the light, the everyday, has become art.

I should not praise my co-editor. That is why I have only highlighted the weaknesses of his four one-act plays.

Fairy tale play by Hermann Sudermann
Performance at the Deutsches Theater, Berlin

"I raise my head boldly to the threatening rocky mountains and to the raging torrent of water and to the crashing clouds swimming in a sea of fire and say: I am eternal and defy your power! Break all down upon me, and you earth and you heaven, mingle in wild tumult, and all you elements, - froth and rage and in wild battle tear apart the last little sun-dust of the body which I call mine: - my will alone with its firm plan shall hover boldly and coldly over the ruins of the universe; for I have seized my destiny, and it is more permanent than you; it is eternal, and I am eternal like it." Fichte uttered these sentences in a speech that dealt with the highest goals of the human spirit. Anyone who knows them can recall them when they get to know Sudermann's latest dramatic poem "The Three Heron Feathers". For the tragedy of man, who is driven as far away as possible from the proud consciousness expressed in these sentences by an unfortunate fate, affects us in this thoughtful drama in the shattering way that we always feel when the greatest problems of life are unrolled before us with the playwright's gripping means.

A Hamlet's nature, faced not only with the problem of avenging his criminally murdered father, but with the greater problem of coming to terms with life itself, in all its mysteriousness: that is Sudermann's main character, Prince Witte. Widwolf's nefarious deed has robbed him of his fathers' ancestral heritage, the Duchy of Gorhland. He seems equipped with all his gifts to acquire what he has inherited from his fathers. But like Hamlet's will, his is paralyzed. Fate itself prevents him from earning his freedom and life by having to conquer them every day. The reason for his tragedy is that this fate throws happiness at him without struggle, without striving. But such happiness can never be pious to man.

Prince Witte has gone to a people on a northern island, where a heron is worshipped as a divine being. He has captured three feathers from it. They can bring him the three stages of development of the happiness that can only be bestowed on man. But such happiness could only belong to transient life. The life with which death is inseparably linked. The life that becomes bitter when we think of death. Yes, whose only, futile meaning is death. Sudermann has given symbolic expression to death, which alone can shed light on such transient happiness in life, in "Begräbnisfrau". She interprets the prince's fate in terms of the three heron feathers. If he lets the first one burn in the fire, the woman who makes him happy appears to him as a misty figure in the clouds. If he burns the second, she will stand before him in a dream. He will hold her in his hands and yet strive in vain to possess her. And if the third finally becomes the nourishment of the flame, the woman who represents his happiness will die before his eyes.

Like the will that is paralyzed in the prince himself, his faithful servant Hans Lorbass stands beside him. He tries to lift him up again and again. He is the strength and the fire in Prince White's life. In the first scene of the drama, he reveals his entire life's destiny to us:

"For in every great work,
That is accomplished on earth,
Strength alone shall reign,
He alone shall reign who laughs,
Never shall sorrow reign,
Never he who foams at the mouth in anger,
Never he who needs women to slumber,
And least of all he who dreams,
Therefore how I sweat and steel him
To what he can become,
I sit firmly in his soul -
I, the fighter - I, the man."

Prince Witte embarks on the path of life marked out for him by fate with his servant Lorbass, whom he has found again after capturing the heron feathers. He goes to the court of the Amber Queen of Samland, who is a widow and has a six-year-old son. She wants to give her hand to whoever wins the tournament. Widwolf, who has usurped Witte's throne, meets the robbed man here. Although Witte does not win, the loyal Lorbass stands by his side and drives Widwolf and his men away. Nevertheless, the queen gives Witte her love. She is a woman full of kindness and devotion, but she must give her love away. She can only consider the one who has conquered her heart to be the victor, and that is Prince Witte. He becomes king, even though the Samland Queen's people have grave qualms of conscience because Witte has not won an honest victory - and even though he does not feel happy because he is not keeping and defending the throne for himself, but for the young king from his wife's first marriage. But fate, which decides on the happiness of transient life, has assigned this wife to the prince as his happiness. He cannot understand this fate. The wife he has been given remains a stranger to him, and his longing yearns for the supposed stranger who is to appear to him walking in the night when he burns the second heron feather. Lorbass sees his master gradually withering away at the queen's side. He therefore gives him the idea of burning the second heron feather. And when this becomes a flame, the Amber Queen, his wife, appears "walking in the night". Even now, he cannot recognize her as the wife destined for him. Instead, he sees her as a troublemaker. He thinks that by appearing, she has driven away the unknown woman out of jealousy, who should have appeared when the heron's feather was burned. At this moment, the deeply moving spirit of this drama takes effect from the stage: we do not understand a happiness that we receive effortlessly, as if by magic, as a gift; we can only recognize the happiness we have acquired as the happiness that is due to us. Sudermann conveys this general truth to us through a purely human motif. Witte cannot find the way to his wife's heart because his son, who does not bear the mark of his blood, stands between them. He even gives Lorbass a hint to get this son out of the way. The robber Widwolf appears for the second time to covet the queen. Witte is to fight for himself and his own. He believes he cannot do this as long as he is defending not his own throne, but that of his stepchild. When Lorbass gets to know the boy king in all his excellence, he cannot kill him. And Witte is also glad that this time the faithful servant has broken faith. With all the strength in him, he rushes against the enemy Widwolf and - now really conquers the kingdom, but - to renounce it and move on to seek the woman who is supposed to be destined for him by the firepower of the heron's feathers. He does not find her, of course, but returns fifteen years later to burn the third of the feathers in the presence of the Amber Queen. At this moment, the woman destined for him falls to her death. Only now, as his happiness escapes him, does he realize that it was meant for him. He dies after his wife. Death, in the form of the funeral wife, has had no trouble in capturing the two of them for himself, for it was easy for him to give them a fleeting happiness that neither of them can recognize as their own. He receives happiness as a gift and cannot recognize it because he does not conquer it; and she gives happiness away and cannot be happy about it because she gives it away indiscriminately.

There is no dead end in this Sudermann drama. One sits there and waits for each coming moment with rapt attention. Always the background to a great thought and always a captivating image on the stage. One has the feeling that a serious person wants to communicate with serious people about an important matter in life. Full of gratitude to have seen a piece of life in a poem, we leave the theater, which today is mostly devoid of ideology.

The performance in Berlin's Deutsches Theater was such that it can be described as a dramatic phenomenon of the first rank. Kainz as Prince Witte: one may give the highest praise; Teresina Geßner was an Amber Queen who made the soul tremble, and Nissen's Lorbass should be incorporated into German stage history as soon as possible. The Deutsches Theater has much to make up for after the utterly unsuccessful Cyrano performance; but it knows how to make up for it. And only where there are strong advantages does one make such mistakes as the one severely criticized here.

Performance of the "Verein für historisch-moderne Festspiele" at the Neues Theater, Berlin

Two Aristophanic comedies have been staged by the association of artists and writers, which is now organizing a "historical-modern festival" in Berlin. The "Birds" and the "Women's State". The "Birds" are considered to be the Greek mocker's most witty work, but also the most difficult to interpret. The poet speaks here more boldly than anywhere else about the relationship between humans and the gods. And this always creates very strange intellectual bubbles in the minds of interpreters and commentators. Especially when it comes to a poet whose greatness cannot be dismissed because of the famous asylum for those without judgment, called "consensus gentium" - consensus of all. Everyone wants to recognize that. And that is why he puts into such recognized greatness everything that, in his opinion, deserves recognition. A bad story happened to the writer of the "official playbill" of the "historical-modernists". This writer is one of the many Nietzsche followers. So he wrote about the content of "The Birds": "Two people have fled from Athens and the confusing hustle and bustle of life, end up in a lonely place among the bird world and establish an intermediate state with it, the so-called "Cloud Cuckoo Land", which has the purpose of thwarting the traffic between humans and gods through a kind of trade barrier. In a humorous way, the entire old world of gods and all superstitious religious systems within it are mocked by replacing them with a bird mythology. The gods are starved to death; and in the end, the human race, represented by the gods, takes over the world. The "thunderbolts of Zeus" are now in the hands of man himself, in the spirit of Friedrich Nietzsche's sentence: "All the gods are dead, now we want the superman to live." The comic gentleman who wrote these lines does not seem to have the slightest sense of humor, for he takes the man who appears at the end of the Aristophanic poem with the "thunderbolts of Zeus" seriously. In the spirit of Aristophanes, however, this "superman" cannot be understood in any other way than as the frog that wants to inflate itself until it is as big as an ox. This man is supposed to be an image of irresistible comedy, incredibly ridiculous in that he, the dwarf, stands before us with the attributes of the great god. A dwarf who strives with all his might to become a giant can be a tragic hero; a dwarf who stands up and says: "Behold, I am a giant" is simply ridiculous. And Aristophanes probably only wanted to portray the little man who stands up and thinks he is a god.

Let's take a look at the comedy. Two dissatisfied Athenians, Ratefreund and Hoffegut, emigrate from their city. It has gradually become a bit uncomfortable for them. If you think back to the time in which "The Birds" is set, this seems understandable. It was a time when the citizens of this city were constantly harassed by people who had a fine nose for anything "dangerous to the state". Alcibiades was active at the time. A capable but ambitious man. He wanted to increase Athens' power through major conquests in Sicily. There were opponents of this enterprise. The inhabitants of the city were divided into two camps. Mutual hostility between the parties led to a really uncomfortable situation. There may have been enough people who thought they could lead a more comfortable life abroad, in the manner of Ratefreund and Hoffegut. There must have been people in Athens who imagined salvation abroad in the most rosy colors. They were the right food for Aristophanes; natures like his see through people. He is not inclined to believe that people are better in one place than in another. The folly of his fellow citizens casts an irresistible spell over him. He feels too weak to improve the fools; but he feels all the stronger to ridicule them. And so he may have said to himself: You are fools in your hometown because you make your lives miserable. But once you are fools, you will do no better abroad. And so he wanted two emigrants to do something really stupid. It is the worldly wisdom of fools to grumble about everything that exists; why shouldn't Ratefreund and Hoffegut think of accusing the gods because they have arranged the world so badly that it is unpleasant for Ratefreund and Hoffegut in it. Modern discontent is somewhat tamer. It merely demands a different form of government. Ancient discontents want different gods. Ratefreund and Hoffegut enter the realm of the birds and want to turn them into gods. And now Aristophanes spins this idea out. As a real prankster, he describes the conditions in the newly emerging realm of birds and gods, called "Cloud Cuckoo Land". He unloads everything he has on his mind against human folly. And finally, he also depicts the unequal struggle in all its comedy that arises between the bird-human realm and the gods. Man even takes the basileia (dominion) from the realm of the gods and holds the lightning bolts of Zeus in his hand.

But this man has only pushed the gods from their thrones in his imagination.

The secret of comedy lies in the fact that a complete contradiction appears before us as real. For Aristophanes, it is such a contradiction that the small, weak man rebels against the gods. That is why he makes him appear with the attributes of the gods' power. One should laugh at the little man who appears to be a god.

The "women's state" follows the same recipe. The women disguise themselves as men and decide in the people's assembly that the rule of the state should fall into their hands. They want to realize all the ideals of human coexistence, from the community of goods to free love. By presenting this ideal to us as real, it is intended to make itself ridiculous.

Of all people, the humorist is perhaps the most difficult to understand. We know that there is a deep seriousness in the soul of the truly great humorist. But he cannot give proper expression to this seriousness. The humorist cannot shape what his longing senses. But everything he sees appears as a mockery of this seriousness. And he gives us the mockery. He keeps the seriousness to himself. So it is with Aristophanes. We sense that behind all his mockery lies a serious view of the world. We believe him that this world view gave him the right to mock Socrates. But what this world-view is, we do not know. We wonder in vain what Aristophanes thought about the old gods. Did he want to restore them or was he dreaming of a new worldview?

We must not forget that the Sophists were almost contemporaries of Aristophanes. And we don't really know much about the Sophists either. Did they want to ridicule their contemporaries because they had fallen away from the old good culture, or was a new culture dawning in the souls of these mockers?

But because we ourselves like to keep our seriousness to ourselves, we enjoy the mockers so much. If we only suspect that they are as serious about the world as we are, then we laugh heartily with them and are quite happy that they present us with something to laugh about.

There are few proofs of human power as powerful as laughter. We always feel a certain exaltation at what we can laugh at. Anyone who gets excited about the weaknesses of his fellow human beings is an unliberated person, because he suffers from these weaknesses. But he to whom these weaknesses appear as foolishness laughs and is therefore a free man. He no longer suffers. And Aristophanes appears to us as someone who laughs. He did more than anyone else to overcome the old world view. He showed us what it had become - and we could laugh at it.

The fact that they have reminded us of this great laughter should not be forgotten by the entrepreneurs of the "historical-modern festival".